Phantom Filled Logs of a Toast Loving Teen
by Toasterphantom
Summary: My eyes came to rest upon something that hadn't been there before. A man. In a mask. I let out a piercing scream, and my hand groped for something to defend myself with... unfortunately all I came up with was a slipper... a blue fuzzy paw print slipper...
1. Of men and slippers

I lazily opened my eyes to meet the white ceiling tiles. Ugh. A lonely Tuesday morning it would be, no doubt mom and dad had already left for my Aunts for the week. Oh well. Time to face the world.

As I rolled over halfway, my eyes came to rest upon a figure in my room that hadn't been there the day before… A man. In a mask. My lips parted and I let out a piercing scream, to which he flinched. My hand groped for something to defend myself with… unfortunately all I came up with was a slipper… a fuzzy blue paw print slipper.

My initial reaction turned to embarrassed fury, and as he took a step forward, I launched my slipper at his head, hitting him, though it didn't do much damage. "You were watching me sleep!?  
" I screamed. "Pervert!" At this time, I'd like to admit, that wasn't quite a fair retort. I was indeed fully clothed…

As he continued forward however, I began to realize that this might be the end. I was paralyzed as he came. Then I began to struggle. A bony hand held each of my wrists down, and though I struggled, I couldn't break free of his iron grasp.

My mind began to finally think logically, something I didn't think it capable of. If I could just get outside my house, only a few feet… and scream… the police station was right across the street…

But there was a problem with that. I was stuck in his grasp… I wouldn't make it to my bedroom door, let alone downstairs and outside… I began to struggle anyway.

It was only then that he spoke. "Please… Calm down miss." He commanded, with some authority, and I stopped struggling… he didn't sound like someone after harming me. But… but logic said otherwise.

I summoned all the courage I could, and managed to get my voice to be a less terrified squeak than it would have been a few minutes back. "Are…Are you going to kill me?" I asked.

He looked at me for a moment without speaking before releasing my arms. I didn't move. "I've no such intentions." He informed me. I didn't believe him. "What is your name miss?"

"I…I would think that since it… I mean... you are in my room...and... you first." I said. _Why on earth would you say that!?_

He nodded once, not seeming upset by the request, nor angry. "If you must know. Erik." He said.

I barely registered the name at first. "Robin… that's mine." I said softly. It was only then that it hit me, the immense irony of being murdered by a foreign masked man named Erik. Oh well. Best die with originality. I could only hope my friends would catch it too.

"Why?..." No, that wasn't right. "How did you get in my house…?" I asked. Probably a broken window and I worried for a moment that my cats might escape.

"I was in your house. I'm not quite sure. I was hoping you might be able to clear a few things up." He said. He paused before adding, "What year is it?"

"What year is it?" I said, rubbing my wrist, which was a little sore from where he had grasped it. "Are you like insane or something?" I asked sincerely. I figured if he was going to kill me anyway, I had little to lose.

"I can assure you I am not. I simply wish to know what year it is." He asked.

"2007. Now… why are you here if it isn't to kill me, which, by the way, I'm still pretty sure is your intention." I inquired.

"To get information." Erik replied

"I don't know my parent's credit card numbers if that's what you mean. OK? If you want to know where the money in the house is, fine, but it's only about twenty dollars." I stated simply.

"I have no interest in your money." He said simply. "I was hoping that you might be able to clear up how I came to be here." He finished.

My patience was warring thin at this point. "How should I bloody know how you got here!? You probably broke through the window in hopes of getting a quick pile of cash. Wonderful thief you are, forgetting what you're doing in the middle of it. And in the middle of the day across from a police station!"

"I'm not a thief. I'm merely in search of some answers. I don't even come from around here, unless I'm mistaken and this really is Paris." He replied, his voice a little sharper than it had been.

I scowled. "Right. Paris. Just because you can waltz into my room, look at the poster, and see that I like Phantom of the Opera, doesn't mean I'm going to think you're the stupid Opera Ghost!" I snapped.

He looked at me, his golden eyes unreadable. His eyes flickered to one of the posters on the wall, a massive four page spread of the masquerade scene. He seemed to look at it closely for the first time.

I frowned. "Fine. I'll play into your delusions if It buys me a few moments of breathing air. Hi. How are you doing? I hope Nadir's well. How's Ayesha getting along. Did the managers bloody pay you ye-?"

At that moment, my words were cut off as his hand seized my throaght, and pushed me against the wall. I realized two things simultaneously. First off, his hands were incredibly cold, which wasn't terribly significant. The second thing I noticed was no matter how confident I sounded just seconds ago, I was still afraid of death.

"Mademoiselle. I would ask that you tell me where you came across this information." He hissed softly.

I made a frantic gesture with my hands, hoping he'd translate it to something along the lines of 'I'll tell you whatever you want to know as soon as you release my neck, for it is restricting my vocal chords, as well as making it increasingly difficult to breath.'

He must be like a mind reader or something, because he released my throaght and I took a deep breath, coughing a bit. When I was sufficiently sure that I wasn't about to pass out, I looked up at him, a bit more mistrust in my eyes. "I read it in a book."

He moved again, and I shrank back, hands going to my own neck in defense. He didn't grab for it again.

"What book?" He asked simply.

"Phantom. And Phantom of the Opera. Kay's and Leroux's. Same story, different interpretations. I have like eight copies. Look for yourself." I said, gesturing a small pile of novels. I had been writing before, and had all eight copies out, as if different covers of the same novel would some how help me overcome my writers block. It hadn't.

He rose, moving over and picking up a novel. He leafed through it, not seeming too satisfied with what he saw. He dumped it back on the floor and I flinched. "That cost me twenty five bucks you know." I said, half heartedly, for I didn't want my neck to be broken at that particular moment.

"And this is common knowledge."

"Yeah. I resort to my theory that you're mental if you don't know that it just became the longest running Broadway musical. Webber's a bloody millionaire after all this, and he's the nerve to start work on a sequel based off of that horrible novel. Phantom of Manhattan. I still hold Otto as my hero." I said, noticing that I was rambling quite a bit. I came back to the point. "But yeah. You can pick up a copy of this book in almost every book store." I finished.

He nodded, looking at me strangely. "Ah. Well. I'm afraid, I'm not to acquainted with this time period's culture. I would be obliged if you might assist me."

"Well you better become acquainted with this particular time period, because I'm not too keen on showing around a loon." I paused, looking him over. He was oddly thin, and I found myself wondering for a moment if he wasn't a loon after all.

I shook my head. Impossible. Just because the fanfics exist, doesn't make it true. Besides. Nothing was right! Erik only ever appeared when some poor phan was watching the Gerard Butler movie version of phantom… and Erik would never accept that.

I licked my dry lips. "So… you're telling me… that you're a deformed genius, who lives under an Opera House, that you helped to build, and come from the eighteen hundreds?" I asked, not ready to believe that.

But he spread his hands out in some form of agreement. I paused. How would I know? "Sing something." I said.

He remained silent, looking at me for explanation.

"I won't know until you do. Sing, or I'll make it my business to get to the police outside. Even if I don't make it, you'll have one hell of a time fitting in around here without my help."

Erik's lips parted, and he sang a few grudging lines from Don Giovanni. I closed my eyes. His heart wasn't in the music, as he was probably too busy being pretty annoyed with me. But the voice didn't leave any doubt. I could be reduced to tears by the worst recording of Pavarotti, but I'm sorry to say that this put even the best recordings of his out of the picture.

I opened my eyes before he stopped, and nodded. "Alright. Fine then." I said, not quite sure what to address him as now. "If…If you would wait downstairs, I'll get ready and be down in a moment."

He nodded. Wordlessly, he rose and moved down the hallway. I got up and headed towards the bathroom. I paused in the door way, turning around.

I stared after him in awe, not so much at the fact that _the_ Phantom of the Opera was in my house, but more at the fact that he had just walked soundlessly down the creakiest stairs in all of New York State.

I shook my head, not sure if I was excited, or nervous. What was I supposed to do? It wasn't as if I could just send him back… and was I prepared to have an experienced murderer living in my home? I just thanked the lord that my parents weren't home… What would they say?

I sighed, picking up the tooth brush and brushing my teeth. Oh well. There wasn't much I could do anyway. I'd simply have to wait and see.


	2. Coffee break

It's been more than a year! I know! I'm sorry! I'll try not to let it happen again!! Just every time I start to write, it comes out like crap!!!! I still couldn't come up with a chapter! All of my ideas sucked. Please please, PLEASE, review with suggestions! The more comments or suggestions I get, the faster I'll be able to get another chapter to you. This is just a little filler piece to try to get my brain to work. Sorry!

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I put my toothbrush back on the shelf, and moved to leave the bathroom, only to be run down by a frantic cat. I sighed as I watched Kaos barrel past me and directly into the wall. From there she proceeded to frantically attempt to climb the tiled wall, to no avail. I had sort of figured that would happen. Unless I had missed something dramatically obvious, Erik was not a woman, and that made sure he was not Kaos-approved.

Knowing there was nothing I could do, I walked back into my bedroom and got dressed, moving downstairs. With each creak of the stairs, I cringed. I stepped over the loudest one, though it didn't do much good. I was certainly no Erik.

I moved into the living room, seeing my other two cats curled on his lap, watching me. I knew it was way past their normal feeding time, and Comet didn't let me forget that. From her curled position, she announced to the world just how hungry she was. "Sorry." I muttered, though I wasn't sure if it was to Erik or the cat. I offered him coffee, which he refused, and went in to make some for myself before feeding the frenzied felines.

I took my coffee back into the living room and studied Erik. He was watching the birds outside the window, feeding on the seed in the bird-feeder. When the cats had done eating, my third cat, Ixchel, wandered in and decided to watch me watch Erik watching the birds. In time, the birds decided to watch us too.

I finished my coffee, the world finally allowed to function again. I can't function without coffee, and, being the narrator of this tale, the world is not allowed to function if I can't.

With the caffeine need satisfied, I sighed, causing Erik to turn his attention from the birds. "I don't know what we're going to do about any of this." I admitted. "I suppose we'll just have to wait and see…"

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Please Review! Really!


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